Naught
by Dranzen
Summary: Echizen Ryoma is no longer the prince of tennis, and Harry Potter will never become the saviour of the wizarding world. slash and het in both fandoms
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Totally un-beta'd and not to be taken seriously. _PLEASE._ I started this on a whim, and I'm telling you right now the Harry-playing-Tennis world is very cheesy. D: DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY OR LOOK TOO FAR INTO THINGS. LIKE WHY I WOULD KILL NANJIROH OR IF I EVEN DID ALJFLAJDALKCN. This is only the first bit. I'll post the rest if anyone wants to read it, but hey. Whatevs. . First PoT post, but not fic. Sorry for OOC.

* * *

There was much to be said about first year Harry Potter.

The way he held a tennis racquet for one; his appearance of _belonging_ on the tennis courts for another. His non-descript appearance until you started hitting a ball with him another factor in the chitter chatter around the club and Potter's grudging respect for his upperclassmen. The boy had _talent_, and someone had even gone so far as to cal him a 'prince of tennis'.

He would definitely earn a place as one of Seigaku's talented Regulars – come summer, of course. Because first years never played in the ranking tournaments.

So they said.

Once the team members had been decided, the new rumour was that Harry Potter had stared down Diggory-buchou in order to get his spot. Others said that buchou simply saw Harry's potential and couldn't just let Potter pass _his_ team by.

Whatever the reason, Harry Potter – freshmen – played second-year regular Draco Malfoy.

And won.

* * *

There was much to be said about fourth-year Echizen Ryoma.

Besides, of course, the absurd circumstances of his parents' deaths that had resulted in the gold of his eyes; besides the fact that he had faced the dreaded Voldemort not once but three times; besides his talent on the Quidditch pitch and his knack for trouble, pain and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Things like how he might possibly be jumped by Beauxbaton's headmistress or that (if not for that ruddy age line) he would definitely be the greatest Hogwarts Champion yet. It was also said that first years never made their house teams.

No-one was quite sure how (least of all Ryoma) but Echizen had gotten himself into the Triwizard Tournament. Some said it was fixed from the start, as he was the Headmaster's favourite. Others heard whispers from the ghosts and portraits: that someone wanted Ryoma Echizen dead.

Whatever the reason, his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire (or GOFF, as some of the Gryffindor third-years had started to call it) and no matter how he and Hanamura and Banji protested, he was stuck.

And most likely doomed.

* * *

Oliver Wood was tall.

Harry craned his neck upwards, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight. It wasn't a particularly hot day, but his ms were already sweating with usual nervous excitement which allowed him the drive to win and play. He flexed his fingers around the grip of his racquet in anticipation, offering Wood a small smile. Wood's returning expression was barely there. He offered Harry his hand over the net and the boys shared a quick, firm handshake before they were trooping to their respective positions.

Harry took a deep breath and ran the fingers of his left hand down the high-tension strings, fingertips brushing it ever so slightly. Their referee also took a breath, but this was the signal the match to begin.

"One set match! Wood service play."

Wood bounced the ball once, twice and Harry rolled on the balls of his feet determination beginning to manifest behind his glasses. Sunlight flashed on the round lenses and Olive raised his racket and –

* * *

Well, nothing else mattered after that.

Cedric let a long breath slide past his lips and held a towel loosely to his moist forehead. He heard some exciting babble nearby from other spectators, but it was merely background noise as he watched the match unfold before him.

He had been a classmate of Oliver Wood for years and had watched him grow and develop a tennis style that was getting more and more frustrating the more he played with him. What he lacked in raw talent Oliver made up for in tenacity, strategy and a frightening view of tennis that drove him to accept _only_ victory. Wood had the drive and intelligence to reach the highest levels of the tennis world and Cedric was more than glad that he had chosen this Tennis club.

Yet here was Harry Potter challenging and older, taller Regular player who had not even a game ago been dominating the court with a talent that went beyond prodigy. Finally watching Potter up close Cedric could see why players within the club and students outside it called him the Prince.

Cedric smiled and draped his towel over his shoulder, watching as Harry delivered a drive that blew past Oliver, leaving the older boy with nothing but an empty side of his court and a shocked impression on his face. All of Oliver's careful planning and strategy was crumbling apart. Apparently, Harry Potter was not someone one could predict so easily.

Fred Weasley stumbled up behind him, panting still and cursing "damn Diggory and his damn balls" under his laboured breath Cedric offered him his water bottle, but Fred waved it off and instead began to glare sourly at the match. Silence fell between the captain and vice-captain as Pottered tied the score – four games al.

"You kind of hope he wins, right?" Fred asked, as they watched Wood prepare to serve.

Cedric contemplated his answer and the jump in Harry's movements for a moment. With a shrug, he turned and began to walk away and towards the slowly updating scoreboard. Malfoy was manning it with a sulky expression, much to Ron's – Fred's younger brother – delight. Fred rolled his eyes and leaned against the fence. "Oh yeah, I forgot. The captain doesn't take sides."

His tone was mocking of course, but Cedric thought that beating Fred – six games to one – was enough of a punishment.

* * *

The entire hall seemed to be holding its breath. Even Ryoma had snapped awake to watch the flames of Goblet of Fire dance and change. It was exciting, he supposed, eyes following his tiny headmaster (lovingly called ojii) as he circled the goblet.

Without warning, the Goblet of Fire roared and a hot wind blew around the hall mussing Roma's usually flat hair. Something shot out of the flames with a tearing sound and it seemed like the occupants of the Great Hall gasped as one. Ojii raised a hand and the spat up piece of parchment veered towards him. It unfolded itself in the palm of his hand, but even the first years seated closest to the event couldn't decipher anything

The headmaster cleared his throat – a dry, pathetic sound – and an air of impatience began to buzz about in dry coughs and sparse whispering. The wait was forgotten, however, at Ojii's next words, which were spoken in a surprisingly clear and loud tone.

"The Durmstrang champion: Seiichi Yukimura."

Ryoma winced at the sudden cheering and occasional fangirl scream as the Quidditch star's name was announced. He didn't clap; Momo next to him was acting wild enough for the both of them. Ryoma wondered sarcastically why he didn't just get on the table and jump up and down. He glanced sideways, seeking some form of help from his other friend, but a scowl formed on his lips instead. An was laughing (he just knew it) behind her hand, and almost certainly at his embarrassment and misery. Ryoma frowned and turned away to face the front.

Yukimura disappeared behind a side door behind the staff table after shaking too many hands. The Great Hall fell silent again and all eyes were focused on the Goblet of Fire. Ojii no longer paced around it, but simply held out a hand and waited. The flame's flash lasted a mere instance and then a piece of parchment was unfurling itself in Ojii's hand. He wasted no time now, and read the name clearly.

"For Beauxbatons: Keigo Atone!"

High-pitched shrieks of both delight and woe once again resounded in the hall. The annoying factor was lessened by Momo's polite clapping and An's scowl, but Ryoma had a pulsating headache he was sure was only going to get worse as the evening progressed.

Atobe stood with a quick flick of his hair and sauntered towards the head of the hall with his head held abnormally high. Yet again, Ryoma rolled his eyes. Atobe looked like a demented peacock. The second champions hid himself from view as well. Silence fell just as An whispered, "Good riddance" so that her voice echoed around the hall. Some laughed (Momo more at the colour she had turned) and Beauxbatons gave serious glares to her from the Ravenclaw table.

The Goblet flared a final time just as Momo's last chuckle faded. All at once, eve r Hogwarts student was attentive and excited. No-one dared to say a word as the third parchment exploded out of the Goblet and landed in ojii's waiting hand. The old man's back was to Ryoma, but he imagined he could hear the smile in his voice. Ryoma let out a small sigh of relief. Their champion might not be a total idiot then.

"The Hogwarts champion: Kunimitsu Tezuka."

The uproar that followed this announcement rose like a geyser from the far left table in the hall, echoing and making many students flinch or laugh. Many were cheering as Tezuka stood, but it was the usually quiet Hufflepuff table that drowned everyone else out. Almost the entire table had stood up banging empty plates and just generally making an excited racket.

Momo and An were clapping as well, An looking decidedly more pleased than Momo. Tezuka strode towards the front without the glamour of Yukimura or the drama of Atobe, but with his shoulders straight and step purposeful.

Ryoma thought he looked exactly as a champion should.

* * *

Tezuka shut the door behind him and let out a long, slow breath of relief; It was embarrassing, now, as he thought about his past month of worry and contemplation. Champions made themselves, and obviously he had managed to mould himself properly or else the Goblet wouldn't have chosen him.

He wasn't about to call himself 'lucky.'

His palms were sweaty and he wiped them quickly on his trousers before taking his first careful steps down the stairs that would take him to his competition.

Atobe and Yukimura weren't talking. Rather, Atobe was studying a plaque (or his reflection) with a pleased smirk on his lips. Yukimura stood in front of the roaring fireplace, his heavy coat hanging off his shoulders. The portrait over the mantle was watching him, her face hidden behind a violet fan. Tezuka paused at the bottom of the steps and both turned to him. And uncomfortable silence fell as they studied him and he made sure to stare right back as he strode towards the fireplace. As he came to stand next to him, Yukimura's calculating expression became a pleased looking smile. Tezuka nodded in return, just as the door swung open and the buzzing of hundreds of teenagers filled the small space of the stairwell.

The sound was abruptly cut off as someone stormed their way into the main room. Echizen stepped into the firelight and froze, scowl in place. He glared at each of them in turn, and yet again Tezuka found himself marvelling at the absurd shade of his eyes. Atobe seemed to realize who this angry-looking fourth-year was and in his peripheral Tezuka saw his shoulders straighten.

Yukimura was the first to speak, his delicate accent and soft voice somehow filling the room. 'Are you here to call us back?" he asked, voice sweet.

The Gryffindor blinked and then his expression darkened even more. Though he didn't say it out loud they could all hear the teasing demand behind his silky words.

Echizen raised his nose and set his eyes on Yukimura. "No," he replied, the beginning of a smirk quirking at the edge of his lips. "I am the fourth champion."

* * *

Harry's breath came steady, deep and peaceful as he ran just behind the quiet Longbottom-senpai – one of his new teammates and frightening in a vague sort of way. He didn't quite remember what they had done to earn the laps they were doing, but it hardly mattered anymore. The run felt good – almost as good as the Regular Jersey on his back.

The blue and white jacket was definitely something for Harry to be proud of – not that had ever admit his trouble with Wood-senpai and the annoying Malfoy, or even with an injured Ron (the third Weasley on the team, who insisted everyone call him by his given name). He had earned his position, and proved his worth in the Prefectural tournament.

His eye ached just thinking about it, and for the umpteenth time Harry thanked the heavens that he hadn't managed to get glass in his eyes – though, if one really considered it, cutting his eyelid hadn't been much better. Still, he had won the match thanks to buchou's understanding nature.

Cedric Diggory was a cheerful, involved captain with a skill level high enough that even a junior champion player (like Harry) and national champions offered him well-earned respect. To Seigaku, Diggory was more than a captain and a friend: he was a patient teacher at times, and something to aim for always. He was the undefeated captain of the Seigaku Tennis Club.

Well, Harry though as he padded to a stop, he was just going to have to change that.

He pulled off his glasses and wiped them carefully on the hem of his t-shirt, half-listening to the Weasley twins (who insisted half of the time _not_ to be called by their given names) as they laughed about something. It was apparently Ron, as his protesting voice soon joined theirs. As Harry slid on his glasses again, Longbottom-senpai smiled at him. Harry offered a quick one in return, finding companionship amongst punishment that was usually reserved to Weasley-senpai and/or Weasley-senpai.

Though, when Harry thought back, they were the ones to set Cho on Neville.

Harry and Longbottom entered the courts again, sweaty already despite not even having warmed up properly. It didn't look like anyone else had either, with both sensei and buchou gone (after assigning Neville and the bystander Harry ten laps and Cho five)/ He adjusted his slipping lenses and looked left and right for where he had left his bag and racquets. Longbottom-senpai had been whisked away by a demanding and impatient Malfoy, but perhaps Ron or _one_ of the Weasleys wanted to play a game.

As Harry knelt next to his dark blue bag (SEIGAKU carefully printed on one side) a flash of blonde caught his eyes and he glanced up, bag half zipped.

Luna Lovegood was another freshman, in one of the other classes who Harry only ever saw at practice – even though Luna was not a member of the tennis club. Her friend Ginny – yet another freshmen and yet another Weasley – was, though, and usually the reason for Lovegood's appearance.

Luna was slightly creepy, Harry thought as he forced his glasses up his nose. They stared at each other for a moment – Luna smiling and Harry confused – until Harry shook his head and returned his attention to his bag and racquets.

"Congratulations," Lovegood said suddenly, her tone airy and voice soft like a sigh. Harry nodded a thanks and slipped out his favourite of his three racquets. "On making the Regulars, I mean."

Harry knew that, but he didn't say it. Instead, he pulled the zipper shut and stood. "Thank you."

Luna smiled a little wider, and Harry resisted walking away right then. He sincerely hoped someone would come with a polite reason for him to return to practice – Lovegood seemed awfully sure they were engaging in a stimulating conversation – and that buchou or sensei wouldn't show up and give him laps for slacking off.

"You're awfully good, aren't you?" Luna continued, and Harry shifted on the spot slightly. She didn't wait for a response. "Yes, you're very good. I think I shall cheer you on."

Harry bowed his head and muttered an embarrassed "please do." Luna looked pleased by this and opened her mouth to say something else, but Ron's voice cut across the courts.

"Potter! Buchou wants to see you!"

Luna sighed and stepped away from the chain-link fence. "Ah, I suppose I will see you later, Harry-san." He nodded and away she went with a twirl.

Tapping his right shoulder with his racquet head, Harry walked towards Ron who waved, as though the first year couldn't spot his mop of bright red hair and tall frame. He didn't mind the youngest of the Weasley-senpais. Certainly, they weren't meant to be a doubles pair, but burgers afterschool (Harry still wasn't quite sure how he always ended up paying, but that was besides the point) and finding ways to vex Draco Malfoy were completely different ideas.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, grinning up at his tall teammate.

Ron shrugged, returning the smile. "No problem, but buchou really is looking for you," Ron replied. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess I'm just not meant to practice today," Harry muttered, glancing towards where Cho was testing one of Oliver's new strategies. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

"He's just outside the clubroom," Ron told him, adopting his 'helpful senpai' look. Harry applauded himself: he hadn't laughed this time.

"Did he say what it was?"

"No."

A scowl came over the first year's features. "If one more person asks me about my eye –" he muttered. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Get used to it. You've got teammates now, Potter." He said, a rare bout of wisdom in his words. Harry didn't bother to point out that tennis wasn't meant to be a team sport.

* * *

He had taken it and run with it._ Nobody_ was condescending towards Ryoma Echizen, especially not some Quidditch star in dire need of a haircut (Ryoma had seen Yukimura's trademark green sweatband, but he still wondered how he could see the snitch, let alone catch it) or a still demented peacock. His name on a ratty bit of parchment was his only weapon, and he was obligated to use it.

If he sat back and thought about it, becoming the (illegal) fourth champion was a very bad idea. Ryoma wasn't interested in eternal glory or the money – he had enough notoriety as it was, and certainly enough money to last his remaining school years. He wasn't interested in suicide, either. Which was why Ryoma tried not to think too hard about it.

"The laws say he must compete," said the usually cheerful Ministry representative. He offered a nervous smile to the gathered educators. "His name came out of the Goblet of Fire."

"I don't care if his name came out of Banji's ass," snapped Professor Ryuzaki, her eyes blazing. Said headmaster of Durmstrang nodded with a pleased look on his aging face. Hanamura, on the other hand, looked offended. "He isn't competing."

The four champions had somehow lined themselves against a rare empty wall, with ojii dividing them. The Hogwarts head seemed to have used all his strength for the year and was standing between Tezuka and Ryoma looking ready to fall apart.

This conversation was important, Ryoma knew, as it would decide whether he risked his life with the three original champions or not. However, it was dull and repetitive and it felt mostly like he was watching parliament on the television in his cousin's house. He sighed and glanced to either side of him.

Atobe stood on his right, staring straight ahead. Ryoma didn't doubt that the French champion was spacing out, finding the adult's discussion boring as well. Ryoma didn't feel particularly pleased to share anything with the cocky champion; he had seen Atobe strutting about the grounds, earning as much attention as Yukimura. There was a rumour that he was part Veela – Ryoma doubted it.

Yukimura stood on Tezuka's left, partially hidden from view by Tezuka's tall frame. Yukimura had abandoned his jacket b the fire, baring his shoulders and lean arms to the chilly air of the trophy room. He was smiling, nodding to the things the assorted teachers said.

Tezuka stood on ojii's other side, towering over both Ryoma and the headmaster. His expression was blank and his posture straight as he surveyed the conversation. His interest, as far as Ryoma could tell was not feigned and guilt almost began to turn in the fourth-year's stomach.

It wasn't uncommon to hear other students as how stoic, competitive, intelligent Kunimitsu Tezuka had wound up in _Hufflepuff_ of all places. Even Ryoma had wondered this after his loss to Tezuka the previous year – rain or no, Tezuka had made a remarkable catch which had only been overshadowed by Ryoma's fall. Tezuka had all the makings of a good Ravenclaw or even a Gryffindor, yet he was put in with the duffers Ryoma had no doubt made up a vast majority of Hufflepuff. Obviously the hat had lost its mind.

Tezuka turned his head then, glasses glinting in the firelight as he stared right back at Ryoma. Stubbornly, the fourth-year raised his chin and held Tezuka's gaze. Behind his oval lenses Tezuka's eyes were a shining hazel, and shock suddenly shot through Ryoma.

Very few people had the backbone to look him straight in the eye: most were frightened back simply by the colour of Ryoma's eyes, and so far he had met only Professor Ryuzaki who could scold him without flinching. Yet Tezuka was silently challenging him right back, not at all bothered.

Ryoma scowled and turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Part two. Sigh. I read this over and face palm. Usually I post four sections of each world to each part, but this time Ryoma-as-Harry-land got _going_. CED WHY ARE YOU SO CHEESY. TEAR TEAR.

* * *

Diggory was bouncing a fresh looking tennis ball when Harry found him

Diggory was bouncing a fresh looking tennis ball when Harry found him. He was wearing his blue and white jacket, and hadn't changed out of his sweats. Harry doubted Diggory-buchou would be on the courts much that day, probably busy still preparing for the Prefectural tournament next week.

Harry realized then how little he'd seen his captain play: Diggory was always Singles One for their matches and he had spent most of the Ranking tournament watching _Harry's_ matches.

"Buchou," Harry said, stopping and tapping the frame of his racket on his leg. The bouncing stopped and Cedric looked up.

"Harry," he replied with a small nod. He rolled the ball carefully on the pads of his fingers and silence fell between them.

Cedric was watching him, mouth set in a thin line Harry had only seen on his face once before: while he had listened to Harry's pleas to be allowed to keep playing with a bleeding eyelid.

The ball hit the pavement with a loud thwack as it bounced towards Harry. Instinctively, he raised his racked and caught the tennis ball. Harry lowered his racket and frowned at Diggory over the ball as it bounced on his gut. Diggory looked pleased as he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

"At Haruno University there are a couple of clay courts – you'll find them easily, they've just been renovated." Diggory smiled and Harry let the ball bounce a little higher. "I'll meet you there three days from now, at three p.m.. Come alone." It was, like many of the things Diggory said to his teammates, a command and Harry wouldn't even consider doing otherwise. "I'll bring the balls," he added, almost like an afterthought.

With another smile and nod, Diggory turned away and began walking away – towards McGonagall's office, presumably. The ball continued to bounce on Harry's racket as he raised his left hand to straighten his slipping glasses. He was sweating and his gripped his racket tightly, suddenly afraid it would slip out of his grasp. Harry nodded although Cedric was turned away and began to make his own way back towards the tennis courts.

He needed to practice.

* * *

Cho was quiet as they crossed the street, yet Cedric was more aware of her than ever amongst the chatter and engines surrounding them. Her dress shoes clicked against the pavement where his runners made a barely audible scratching sound with each step.

Their appearance was nothing unusual: just two junior high students on their way home. It was where they had departed that made them stand out. Phantom pain shot through Cedric's arm. The tall hospital building loomed behind them.

"Cedric," Cho said as they stepped onto the busy sidewalk. He dragged the nail of his thumb down the inside of h bag's strap, preparing himself for an argument he didn't want to have.

"I think we're almost ready for the tournament," he chirped, leading the way through tired white-collared men around them. "It looks like sensei wants Ron and Potter to play our two singles fore Yamabuki match, once we get past St. Rudolph of course. You don't mind playing doubles, again do--?"

He applauded himself for not flinching when she snatched her elbow, bringing both of them to a stop. Still, he didn't turn and face her, either. Cho was being ridiculous – she and McGonagall both. The latter had gone so far as to call him masochistic. Cedric had laughed. He wasn't masochistic, he was a tennis captain.

"I know my uncle says you're healed…"

"Trust him, Cho. He's a doctor."

She gripped his elbow harder. The pain was all in his head and he knew it – except for where her nails pressed through his uniform. People moved around them and Cedric thought of a rock in a stream. Were he and Cho just a hindrance for all the rest to flow around? Were they merely a stepping stone? If so, for who?

He already knew the answer.

"Fine. He also said you should avoid long matches and your drop shot," she continued, tone almost pleading. Cedric caught the eye of a passing woman and automatically offered her a smile. He didn't quite see her move away. "Don't play him tomorrow."

"It'll be fine," he assured her. "It's just a tennis match." He tried to take a step forward, but Cho tugged him back.

"There will be other matches. You need to rest for a little longer. What will you do if you strain yourself and we never reach the nationals?"

He let out a laugh. "I'm not going to bust my arm –"

"Yes, you will! I know you Cedric, and I know how you play. You don't need to play Potter."

Cedric pulled himself out of her grip and sighed. "Yes, I do." Cho was in front of him before he could blink, her chocolate eyes flashing with accusation.

"Why?"

"He won't grow if I don't."

"And it must be you."

"Yes."

"Because you're the captain." She let out a sour laugh that didn't suit her at all. "It was probably one of sensei's worst and best decisions." Cho turned away with a huff, long hair swaying as she began walking. After a moment Cedric stepped after her. His long strides brought him to her side with little effort.

"It's just a game, you know." She said as they neared an intersection.

Cedric raised his left hand to grip his elbow, almost where Cho had grabbed. With a smile he said, "Not to me it isn't."

* * *

When Tezuka sought him out two days following Halloween Ryoma was feeling quite pissed. Half of the school was congratulation him on making it into the tournament; the other half hated him – a half which suddenly seemed to include Momo and the entirety of Hufflepuff – for stealing Tezuka's spotlight.

Oh, yeah. Someone might just want to kill him. Not ingredients for a good Boy-Who-Lived mood.

He had heard rumours about Tezuka planning to curse him to Kingdom Come and (although he seriously doubted Tezuka actually would) Ryoma found himself constantly watching his back. Even if Tezuka might not, someone else was bound to try something.

For this reason Ryoma followed Tezuka out of the Great Hall during Dinner amidst whispers and speculation with his wand being twirled in his fingers. They didn't go far, just to the entrance hall where very few still straggled.

Tezuka turned and looked down at Ryoma with his arms folded stiffly across his chest. Ryoma looked right back at him, determined this time not to back down. His wand stilled and he slipped it into his pocket. Silence stretched on between them.

A thought occurred to him then and he held back a tired groan. Although it seemed unlikely, Tezuka was _still_ a Hufflepuff and he was bound to have some of their linked-arms-throw-daisies nature. Ryoma hoped to whatever God it was that seemed to hate him so much that they would take pity on him this once and spare him the stupidity.

Yet as he studied Tezuka's fairly blank expression and his own peculiar shaded eyes found Tezuka's, hidden behind oval lenses, a new worry began to swirl in Ryoma's stomach. This sixth-year was someone whom he respected with about as much respect as he could give anyone. Tezuka Kunimitsu was a downright _amazing_ seeker, and bound to be the best champion of the entire competition. His disapproval or even his hatred was something Ryoma didn't think he could handle.

He found himself wondering if Tezuka had called him out to lecture him about the cup, about the tournament, and a mixture of annoyance and guilt filled him; anger topped him off. Momo thought he had done it and suddenly hated him, Sakaki and the other professors probably thought the same; he had Kikumaru on his case every waking moment as the red-head tried to wheedle his 'secret' out of Ryoma. It was getting to be too much.

Echizen Ryoma didn't tell lies like _that_. Even if he had to tell a hundred people to get one to believe him, he would – Tezuka included.

"I didn't put my name in that dumb cup." Ryoma blurted out, sick of the whispering and the accusations. He glared up at Tezuka, who continued to survey him. Silence fell between them.

Finally, Tezuka said: "I know."

Ryoma blinked. "What?"

"It's like the professors said: no fourth-year could trick the Goblet of Fire," Tezuka replied simply while Ryoma gawked at him. He wasn't sure whether to be offended that Tezuka thought him incapable of befuddling a giant cup, or thankful someone believed him.

Ryoma scowled and his glare hardened. "If you know that, what do you want?"

Tezuka seemed to hesitate (with him, no-one could be sure). "I want to know what you're going to do for the First Task."

Again, Ryoma found himself taken aback. He recovered quickly and rolled his eyes. 'Che. We don't know what the Task is yet – why would I know what I'm doing?"

Oval lenses flashed. "You should be researching and preparing. You, Echizen, are at a serious disadvantage."

Ryoma pursed his lips. He knew that already, but…

Tezuka raised his head slightly. "I am not losing to you." He said, his voice suddenly seeming louder. He stepped around Ryoma and re-entered the Great Hall.

An hour later, An and Sakuno Ryuzaki found Ryoma with a spell book in the library, studying and filled to the brim with a sudden desire to win.

* * *

"He's an idiot."

"You're both idiots."

Ryoma scowled but didn't reply. Instead he flicked his wand experimentally and the pages of his textbook flipped as though in a fresh breeze. An stood with her hands on her hips, watching him with a frown on her lips.

"Let's go for a fly," she suggested, plopping down in the seat across from him. She put an elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. Ryoma flicked his wand again and the pages flipped in the opposite direction.

"Let's not," he replied, catching a delicate page between his fingers. The flipping ceased and he began to skim the page he had nabbed. "I'm studying."

An pursed her lips.

"I think you're depressed," she announced. Her serious expression faltered at Ryoma's snort.

"Hardly," he replied, tracing a wand movement with his index finger.

"Then why are you locking yourself in here all the time?" she probed, making a vague gesture with her free hand (Ryoma took her to mean the library). He raised his eyes to her and An saw this as a chance. "You don't talk to anyone anymore. I know Momo's being a loser about this whole mess and you've got half the school against you –"

"Are you supposed to be helping?"

Ignoring his comment An barrelled on. "And I bet your competitive male nature is working overtime right now, but you've go to snap out of it. How are you going to beat Tezuka if you're sitting around moping?"

Ryoma stared at her. "Are you insane?" he asked blandly then turned back to his book. He missed the light bulb flash over her head – but not her palms slamming on the worn table surface.

_Oh, good god._

He scowled as he looked up again, eyes flashing. He wasn't the only one who had turned: there were pairs of eyes peering around bookshelves and over the tops of dusty texts at the table Ryoma had situated himself at.

"It's Tezuka, isn't it?" An almost hissed, leaning forward and ignoring Ryoma's glare and discomfort. "He said something to – to – to _intimidate_ you, didn't he?"

"He's a fucking Hufflepuff!"

"They're not all above…you know."

"No I don't. You are insane."

An leaned further across the table and Ryoma leaned back, pulling his book with him. She was going to get them kicked out of the library, he just knew it.

"Don't hide it from me, Ryoma," An sighed, shaking her head. "If he said something to frighten you, you should tell a teacher or that Ministry official." Ryoma was _that close_ to sputtering. An's sudden idea that a _Hufflepuff_ (granted, it was Tezuka, but _seriously_) could frighten him was bordering insulting.

"Mind your own business."

"I'm your friend. This _is_ my business."

"Bloody hell. Back off Tachibana."

"Just tell me—"

"Echizen?"

An and Ryoma both shut their mouths and looked up at a frowning Tezuka. His eyes went from Ryoma to An, the frown deepening as the sudden silence dragged on.

To say the least, it was embarrassing.

A poorly disguised laugh brought Ryoma's attention to the Ravenclaw standing just behind Tezuka. He was a slender, pretty boy whom Ryoma had played against once or twice – Fuji, he recalled.

"Ah, Tezuka, you evil 'Puff you." Snickered Fuji. An scowled and Ryoma flushed red enough for the both of them.

An raised her nose and studied Tezuka and Fuji carefully. "Harassment isn't something to laugh about." She said. Fuji turned away to fight further chuckles. Tezuka raised an eyebrow.

"No, it isn't." he agreed, tucking his book under his arm.

"Just to clarify," cut in Fuji, once again peering around Tezuka with his eerily closed eyes. "Who is harassing who here?"

"As if you don't know." An snorted. Ryoma held back a groan and tried to sink into the wood of his seat. "I'd like to know what exactly you said to make Ryoma hide up here with all these books."

Both eyebrows went up and Tezuka's eyes focused on Ryoma. "Hm." An seemed disappointed with this reaction but was kept from saying anything more by the disturbingly loud click-clack of the librarian's heels on the floor.

The stern old woman rounded a shelf with a furious expression and Ryoma sighed, beginning to gather his things together.

"What is all the commotion back here?" the woman snapped, sharp eyes snapping from Ryoma, to An, to Tezuka, to Fuji, and then settling on Tezuka again as she did a double-take.

"Don't need to say it. We're going." Ryoma muttered, lifting his bag as he stood up. An, at least, the common sense to look sheepish.

"A-ah, yes." Pince blinked and then straightened her shoulders. Ryoma braced himself for a lecture. "You're slipping, Echizen. Getting kicked out without Momoshiro is a new low." Ryoma merely grunted in response and began trooping from the library with An in two.

"Fuji, perhaps, but _you_ Tezuka?"

"My apologies, Madame," came Tezuka's deep voice, floating after them as Ryoma and An rounded the same shelf Pince had only moments before. The corridor was quiet when they stepped into it.

Ryoma let out a long-suffering sigh as they started towards Gryffindor. An took the hint and said nothing and there was silence until they reached the portrait hole.

Ryoma opened his mouth to say the password just as the portrait swung open. His teeth clacked together as his fellow Gryffindor straightened his tall frame. An's expression brightened.

"Momo!" she greeted as the other fourth-year looked up.

Ryoma pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes as Momoshiro's own greeting died in his throat. "Off to pick a fight with Kaidoh, huh?" he drawled.

Momo snorted. "At least I'm willing to do something about the Slytherins." He replied, sending his own glare at the shorter wizard.

"You know there was a mental muggle who said the same things about _Jews_."

"_Ryoma_!" An gasped, biting the inside of her cheek. "You're both being idiots!" Neither boy seemed to care what she said.

"Did that mental muggle cheat and lie to his best friend?" Momo hissed, earning a roll of golden eyes.

"Like the best friend would know," Ryoma straightened his back. "Since he was too busy being stupid and jealous and all."

Momoshiro visibly seethed at that and made to step around Ryoma. "You know, speaking of dirty snakes, Sakaki wanted to see you." He let out a sour laugh and stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Probably wants to prepare our special champion for his next interview." He raised a hand in farewell to An and started down the stairs. Ryom and An watched his retreating back for a moment and then the latter sighed and turned back to the portrait.

"You two need to sort this out," she grumbled. "Earthworm Spines," she added to the Fat Lady, who smiled understandingly. An stepped towards the portrait hole and peered over her shoulder to see if Ryoma was coming.

The fourth champion was following Momo's steps down the staircase. Hope almost began to well up in her.

"Ryoma!" she called. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see fucking Sakaki!" he snapped back, angry voice echoing in the empty corridor.

An's shoulders slumped.


End file.
